


Timeout

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Blowjobs, Bottom Dean, Bottom Sam, Come Sharing, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Foreskin Play, M/M, Massages, Rimming, Size Kink, Swesson, Top Dean, Top Sam, it's all nasty nasty porn, there is literally no plot here I am not even joking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:43:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8051524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: What happens when your captain fucks shit up?  You send him to the woods with his not-so-secret boyfriend to fuck it out.  It's beside the point that that is what Sam and Dean actually want.





	Timeout

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO FELLOW GARBAGE RECEPTACLES!
> 
> Sooooo I've been reading more Gay Romance™ novels and of course, there was one about hockey. So I made Sam and Dean into hockey players who are super super into each other, and the rest is history. Although why anyone would bother commemorating this trash into immortality is beyond me. I cannot emphasize enough how little of a story there is here - I wanted them having sex in some crazily specific situations, so that's what I did. I'm sorry it's not a slow burn or whatever. I am here exclusively for dirty, nasty fucking.
> 
> ALSO - I do not know how hockey seasons/ off seasons work, so if you are going to comment on this fic, don't make that the subject. I just wanted dicks.

            “Dean, can you tell us about your last game and why you sent a man to the hospital?”

            Sam know full well why Dean did it – because he was being a dick.  As has been explained to every reporter and nosy sports blogger they’ve encountered in the two weeks since the season ended.  Dean’s walking a step ahead of him, clearing a path for Sam.  It looks weird, given that Sam is not only taller, but broader.  Always looking out for him.

            Dean ignores the question, and the lady holding the microphone gets a little more aggressive.  “ _Dean – can you tell us?”_

Sam sees the snarl before Dean even realizes he’s making it – and he steps between Dean and the reporter before another body is added to the count.  “Dean, think about it.”  He can take a punch, if Dean really wants to hit something.  Not that he _wants_ to be hit, but better him than someone else.  He’s brutal enough on the ice that a tap from his lifelong friend/lover/fuck buddy won’t hurt.

            Finally, Dean turns his fist into a held up hand, bristling as he speaks.  “You know, you guys really must suck at your jobs, because there’s gotta be what, Sammy, a hundred clips of me saying the same goddamned thing?  Now please – kindly move the fuck out of my way so that my teammate and I can get out of the heat.”

            Questions continue to be shouted into the warm, quickly-becoming-humid late April air, and finally they’re granted entry into their hotel.  Just because they’re inside the building doesn’t mean they’re necessarily free of reporters, just less of them.  And they can escape more easily, something that Sam at least is grateful for.  The team is staying on the twenty-fifth floor, and Sam hopes to God that they don’t encounter anyone else on the way up.

            As soon as the doors slide shut, Dean sags against the far wall and wipes the sleeve of his Henley against his forehead.  “Rat fuckin’ nosy bastards, thinkin’ they fuckin’ got the right to ask me shit I’ve already answered.”

            Sam crosses his arms, hoping that at least the sight of his veins and massive shoulders stretched against his tight t-shirt will cheer Dean up some.  “Not that I’m defending them, but it _is_ they’re job.”  Dean picks his head up, notices Sam’s stance, and licks his lips.

            Gotcha.

            “Yeah well… it’s worse that I have to keep giving them a bullshit answer.  Not like I can give ‘em the truth.”  Dean’s plush lips quirk up into a smile, and yeah, were it not for the cameras and someone hoping to make a quick buck off of two star hockey players going at it, Sam would be on Dean in a flash.  Their last kiss had been three days ago and it feels like an eternity, between the intensive ramp-up of postseason training and the constant presence of others.  What’s worse is Dean’s getting just as frustrated as Sam, and Dean tends to get… violent.  Hence one Canadian’s broken jaw and tailbone.

            “Baby, I know it.”  Sam takes a step towards Dean, trusting them both to control their urges for just a minute more before they reach their hotel room.  “Don’t think that the come in the shower drain in the mornings is there just for the hell of it.”  Sam’s gotten super great at replacing his hand with Dean’s mouth in his mind’s eye lately that he can barely look at Dean without getting hard.  Yeah, they’re gonna _have_ to fuck soon, or Sam’ll start having penalties called out on him.

            Clearly just hearing those words – and the associated imagery – are enough to get Dean’s motor running.  “Guess we both need to stop leaving a mess for the maid to clean up.  If the damn shower wasn’t so echo-y I’d have you in there with me.”  Yeah, they’re both loud – and it’s yet to be determined whose volume is greater.  Sam wants to say it’s Dean but when he’s balls deep inside that ass, he tends to block out most everything but feeling.

            “God I want you.”  Sam could fuck him right now, right here on the dirty elevator floor, and not give a damn about anything until _after_ he’d came his brains out.  “And it’s so… God, Dean, it’s so fucking bad because you’re _right there._ ”  He’s not helping himself – or Dean – but he has to at least verbalize it, has to watch Dean’s cheeks flush and those stop-you-in-your-tracks green eyes get wider.

            The ding of the elevator coming to a halt on their floor breaks the tension and of course, some of the guys are in the hallway.  Sam’s sure that his raging boner is visible through his jeans and he tries not to think about it, all the way to their door he runs plays at lightspeed in his head so that he can focus on anything else but Dean’s ass.  Has Dean been keeping up with his “keep my hole shaved for Sammy” routine? No?  Sam would pay an obscene amount of money right now to find out.

            Maybe if they started buying people’s willingness to be silent…

            Sam quashes the idea before he starts to agree with it, because he knows that Dean totally would.  They’ve never been able to keep their hands off of each other, not when it started out as casual blowjobs in high school, when they started doing it together for real in the minor leagues, and certainly not now, both in their early thirties with far more experience than on and off the ice then either of them ever thought they would get.

            Dean’s got the door opened and his hand in the front of Sam’s shirt all in one instant, careful not to slam him against the wall unless someone should hear – but that’s where the caution stops, because Sam’s got Dean’s tongue in his mouth and his hard, muscled body pressed against his so fast that it makes his head spin.  He doesn’t spare anything in kissing Dean back, either – he’s insanely hungry for it, hungry for _Dean._ Dean’s not a want, he’s a need.  Being denied that is torture and it would be so, so much better if Dean would at least go out and get himself laid with someone else – but he doesn’t.  They stay and keep themselves for each other, and it sucks so much because the tension is unbearable.

            Sam stops himself when he feels Dean’s left hand pawing at the front of his jeans, seeking out the head of his cock because Dean has A Thing for it, just has to get his hands on its velvety smoothness, push down his foreskin and get his fingers all sticky and wet with his precome.  Sam groans, pushing his hand away because this isn’t how he wants it, not fast and hurried and unfulfilling because they can’t get a fucking break.

            “Dean, please, just… we can’t, not here.”  He placates him with a kiss that shows Dean how he wants to fuck him, hard and deep and dirty.  “Cause if we do, I’m not gonna be able to control myself.”  He puts his arms around Dean and it completely defeats the purpose, because he can feel Dean’s erection pressed up against his own through their clothes, can imagine it grazing his stomach as he fucks Dean slow and good, just like he likes.

            Dean’s frustration turns into a growl and he presses his forehead to Sam’s, breathing harsh and ragged.  “I can’t fucking take this, baby boy, just…”  Dean grabs Sam’s face and kisses him again, losing all of that nasty demeanor he seems to have a never ending supply of on the ice and giving himself over to basic, needy touch, his fingers in Sam’s long hair and pulling like he does when he wants Sam to fuck him harder.

            It’s awful, in a way, but it makes Sam come in his pants so hard that he sinks against Dean’s shoulder, the pleasure-pain making his body tingle down to his toes.  There’s nothing but sensory overload, Dean fellating his bottom lip because he’s got to have _something_ and his orgasm, unexpected but expected, making the inside of his underwear and jeans wet with come.

            He grabs Dean’s bulge, jerks him as fast as he can, and keeps his mouth covered so that no sound can come out, not letting go until he feels Dean start to shake against him so hard that the adrenaline seeps right out of his skin.  The bed’s only a couple steps away and Sam guides them do it, ending up with Dean on top of him and the mess of come in his pants getting smeared around even more.  He’s still hard, enough so that when Dean grinds his hips against his that it makes him whimper and no, he’s not going to ask Dean to stop unless there’s a really fucking good reason.

            That reason makes itself known by Sam’s phone ringing, and he doesn’t bother to move Dean off the top of him as he answers it.

            “Hello-”

            “You two.  Arena.  Now.”

            It’s Coach Stanhope, and he sounds furious. Probably because Dean dropped all of those f-bombs on live T.V.  Before Sam can get another word out, the line goes dead.

            Dean was close enough to have heard the whole thing.  “We’re boned, aren’t we?”

            “Afraid so – and not in the way either of us want.”

            They don’t even have time to change clothes, and Sam can only hope that no one figures out why they’re squirming.

___

            “ _A TWO WEEK SUSPENSION!”_

Dean’s voice is so loud and sudden that Sam nearly jumps out of his skin, the chair Dean was just occupying tumbling backwards with a clatter.  To his credit, Coach Stanhope doesn’t look in the least bit terrified – he’s faced down more than one angry player, and Dean isn’t the last.  “You can’t fucking do this to-”

            “Curse at me one more time, Smith, and it’ll be a three game suspension.”  The quiet, cold tone in Stanhope’s voice makes Sam pick the chair up and yank Dean down by his shirt tails into it.  “You’re lucky that’s all you’re getting – the league wanted you out for ten games.  I had to call in more than a few favors to make that happen, so I strongly suggest you thank me.”

            Dean’s fury colors his face red, his lips a hard line.  “Fine.”

            Stanhope leans forward, squaring his shoulders; the former pro player is definitely still in his stance, muscles and all. When he’s standing, he makes Sam look small.  When he speaks again, his voice is softer.  “Look, I know things got tense towards the end there – you’re not the only one who’s pissed about getting knocked out in the third round – but you’re the only one who’s bared teeth at reporters.  You need to clear your head, son, before you do something really dumb.”

            “My head’s fine, Sammy tell him that-”

            Stanhope glares at him, and Dean shuts up.  “Again, you need to clear your head.  Refocus.  Come back in two weeks.”

            Sam hasn’t had his fate handed down to him yet, and he’s burning to know.  He just doesn’t if it’s a great idea to have Dean in the room when he finds out, because if he gets to stay with the team and Dean has to sit by…

            Dean grunts, rubs his hands on his knees and stands.  “I’ll go if you want to talk to Sammy alone.”

            “No need – Sam’s sitting this out with you.  Don’t think I haven’t noticed how close the two of you are.”  Understanding – and maybe a little contempt – shows in Stanhope’s eyes and Sam waits for the floor to start swallowing them up.  He knows that he and Dean aren’t great about _not_ making eyes at each other, but they do keep their hands to themselves in front of everyone.  Team parties don’t count, because EVERYONE does things they aren’t supposed to there.

            “Uh… look if we caused any trouble…”  Dean actually sounds at a loss, and Sam bumps his knee for solidarity. 

            “Whatever it is, take care of it, talk to each other, whatever – what you do out of the arena is only part of my business.  All I know is that when you two come back, you had better bring your a game and keep it that way.  Understood?”

            A simultaneous “yes coach” ends the meeting, and Dean scrambles for the door as fast as he can.  Sam follows, making sure Dean doesn’t hit anyone or anything on the way out to the parking lot – Stanhope looked serious about that three game thing.  Dean doesn’t say a word until he’s behind the wheel of his Impala, Sam taking his long-familiar place in the passenger seat. 

            “Dean, look-“

            “Sammy, don’t, okay?  I know you can’t keep your damn mouth shut, but just this once, don’t.”  Dean actually looks like he might cry, and anxiety eats at the pit of Sam’s stomach.  He follows Dean’s order and stays quiet – but he does put his hand on Dean’s knee and squeezes, taking it as a small victory when Dean doesn’t shy away from him.  This is going to be tough for both of them, not being able to practice and run plays and just… do what they do.  Sam more than anyone hates idling but if that’s what’s necessary, then so be it.  It’s not worth being kicked out of the league for impatience.

            The swarm of reporters from earlier is gone, and they’re allowed entrance to the hotel without harassment.  Dean sulks in the elevator, still quiet, his jaw working and his hands flexing.  The come in Sam’s pants from earlier is still damp and more than anything he just wants to change, have a drink of something stiff, and think about what the hell they’re going to do with themselves for the next two weeks. 

            Dean stops a couple feet inside the door, his shoulders as tense as steel.  Seeing a window, Sam comes up behind him and wraps his arms around Dean’s body, huffing his warm breath over the back of his neck.  “It’s not gonna be that bad, babe.”

            Whatever fight Dean had left goes right out of him, and he nods.  “I know, just… it was hard to hear that.  I live for the ice, baby boy, you know that.”

            Sam kisses the back of his head and lets Dean go, heading for the bathroom.  “I do, better than anyone else – why don’t we clean up and consider what to do with ourselves, yeah?”

            In agreement, Dean follows him to the bathroom.

            Sam kicks off his shoes and steps out of them, dropping his jeans and underwear while Dean gets him a washcloth.  He’s not quite as horny as earlier – the meeting with Stanhope had been a real bucket of ice water – but being naked around Dean tends to keep things heated.  It doesn’t help that Dean eyes his naked cock with hunger and a lick of his lips, and Sam starts to feel himself chub up again.

            “You know, Stanhope didn’t give us conditions as to what we had to do while we’re sitting out – just that we had to.”  Dean actually washes his junk for him, his rough fingers a pointed contrast with Sam’s soft, warm skin.  “And I actually thought about it on the way over here.”

            Sam listens to the swish-scritch of the washcloth through his pubes and leg hair.  “And?”

            “The cabin on Lake Champlain – Uncle Bobby’s still got it, and I’m pretty sure he’d let us use it.  It’ll be cool up there, but there wouldn’t be any reporters.”  Dean finishes cleaning Sam up and squeezes his balls for good measure, just in case Sam’s in need of further convincing.

            “Or teammates,” Sam adds.  “And it’s got that king sized bed in the master bedroom.”

            “And the canoe, don’t forget that.”  Dean undoes his own pants and Sam pushes them down, Dean’s thick, uncut cock half-hard like his own.  “That’d be alright, wouldn’t it?  Be a good workout, since we can’t skate.”

            Sam doesn’t _have_ to handle Dean’s genitals to clean him up but he does anyway, “accidentally” brushing his fingers over the slit every time he makes a pass with the washcloth.  “All you’d have to do is call him, right?”  Sam’s on board with the idea, probably even more than Dean – that bed is comfortable as _hell._

Dean doesn’t say anything for a moment, far more fascinated with how Sam’s touching him than actually contributing to conversation.  “Phone’s in my left pocket.”

            Sam crouches to the floor and while he’s there getting Dean’s phone, points Dean’s dick upwards and gives him a long, slow lick from the balls up, making Dean shiver and reach full hardness.  He hands Dean his phone and listens as he dials Bobby, explaining to him what happened and eying Sam, still on his knees and kissing his bare thighs.  He’s not going to blow Dean while’s on the phone with a close family member but the temptation, he’ll admit, is very strong.

            “So… is that a yes?”  Dean looks hopeful and he straightens, his hard dick nearly poking Sam’s eye out.  “Yeah, under the step-stone, no food, got it, thanks a million Bobby, seriously.”  He hangs up, hauls Sam to his feet, and kisses him nearly through the tiled wall behind him.  Their cocks rub together and Sam hums, Dean warm and happy against his mouth.

            “Alright,” Sam says as Dean breaks the kiss, “the question is – do you want me to blow you here, or wait until we have more privacy and we can go for as long as we want.”

            “Compromise – road head.  Highway headin’ north ain’t that busy this time of year, and seeing as how it’s not long before sundown, we’ll be fine.”  Dean kisses Sam again, and finally, Sam feels like maybe suspension is worth it for this.

___

            Sam’s gonna be pissed if Dean drops the eggs, as he doesn’t really feel like going back for more.  He wants food, Dean, and sleep, in that order.

            “Dean, we could have made two trips – I’m sure that we’re-”

            Dean gives him a stare that stops him, jerking his head towards the door.  “You gotta open it, I’m not setting these down.”  Dean nudges the loose stone the key is supposed to be under and with a sigh, Sam places the groceries he’s carrying on the ground and steps forward, hoping there are not eight-legged friends hiding with the key.

            They had managed to beat a lot of traffic coming out of the city on their way north, and upon finding out that the all-night grocery did pick-up orders, had promptly put one in (along with a generous tip for their shopper’s silence.)  Dean’s promise of road head hadn’t come true – he’d been far more interested in imitating Michael Schumacher, driving just as fast as he could to get them their, and all Sam could do was hang on for dear life, but he supposes he gets it; the sooner Dean got them there, the sooner they could get their hands on each other.

            Sam opens the door, punches in the security code Dean had provided, and turns on the lights.  Bobby had only been there about a month ago, and the decoration is just the same as it had been two summers before when they’d visited, and the years and years before that when they’d grown up together and Dean’s father John had brought them up here for fishing and hiking; rustic, with lots of dark woods and greens, thick rugs, and the smell of pine trees inhabiting the air.  It’s an elixir for the soul, and Sam immediately starts to feel a little more relaxed, smiling to himself as he goes back outside to help Dean with the rest of the groceries.

            “Move it, Samsquatch.”  Dean muscles past him with his bags, straining and sweating unnecessarily.  Sam follows, moving by memory to the kitchen and once there, sets his payload down gently whereas Dean more or less drops his.

            When he catches Sam giving him a look, he screws his face up and goes back out for their bags.  “Shut up, I knew what I was doing.”

            Sam laughs and begins the work of putting things in their place and getting what he needs for their dinner.  He listens to Dean grunt and curse as he shuffles their bags to the master bedroom, banging against a wall here and hoping for Dean’s sake that Bobby hadn’t installed any “extra” burglar traps.  The old man’s faith in electronic security is at best a shaky one.

            When Dean returns to the kitchen no worse than before, he immediately fishes a beer out of the pack Sam’s putting in the fridge and pops it open.  “Finally.”

            “Finally what?  Ready to help me with dinner?”  Sam steals the bottle out of Dean’s hand and drinks a quarter of it before handing it back, leaving Dean with mock indignation on his face.

            “How about I just provide spectacular commentary while you make it – I’m beat.”  Dean sits down in one of the chairs and leans it back on two legs, sprawling and invading like he owns the damn place.  Whether or not his splayed legs are an invitation, Sam can’t be sure.

            “Yeah, because you insisted on doing eighty  the whole way here.”  Sam gets out a pan and throws bacon into it, turning it on and beginning his search for the griddle.  “That’s not my fault.”

            “Hey, only because I wanted to get here faster, or have you suddenly forgotten why we’re here?”  Dean gets up and with his beer still in hand, sidles up behind Sam and pulls them together.  “I know you’re just as touch-starved as I am.”  He murmurs the words into the skin on the back of Sam’s neck, nosing his long hair out of the way so that he can kiss him teasingly and scrape his teeth over the places where  his lips land.  Sam shivers, and okay, Dean makes a very good argument for his actions, bull-headed they might be.

            “And I want to touch you – I want to touch you _a lot –_ but you _were_ the one who waxed poetically about pancakes and bacon for dinner.”  Sam plugs the griddle in and turns in Dean’s arms, taking his beer bottle and setting it on the counter.  “But I suppose it _will_ take the griddle a minute to warm up.”

            “Hey, that’s the way to think baby boy.”  Dean opens his mouth and Sam’s sucking his tongue past his lips before they even touch, slow and sensual, making Dean’s fingers flex and grip on his narrow hips.  It’s the sort of kiss they indulge in when they have time to actually enjoy it – which is seldom.  Kind of makes each one special, in Sam’s eyes anyway.  He lets Dean rub against his thigh, denim dragging on denim and making both of them groan.  Sam doesn’t want to let it get too far, not when they actually have space and privacy to properly touch each other, as wonderful as dry humping  may be. 

            When Dean pulls away from him for air, there are little trails of spit connecting their lips.  “I uh.. didn’t mean to slobber on you.”  He wipes Sam’s mouth with his sleeve, only for Sam to catch the fabric in his teeth and pull Dean back to him.

            “You hear me complaining?”  God, he wants Dean so badly it’s a literal ache in his stomach, and goes for another kiss, only to be interrupted by the griddle beeping that it’s reached optimum pancake-making temperature – and the bacon is starting to sizzle nicely.

            “Guess we should tend to that.”  Sam runs his fingers through Dean’s scruff before he lets him go, his erection straining against his thighs – it’s about time for the pants to go.

            Dean’s already beaten him to the idea, stepping back from Sam and wriggling out of his jeans.  “I’m gonna go put on something more comfortable – you want me to grab your shorts?”

            “Please and thank you.”

            Dean walks out of the kitchen, jeans slung over his left shoulder, taking off his boxer briefs against the doorframe.  He wants to follow that pretty ass all the way to the bedroom but he also doesn’t want to burn the house down due to a kitchen fire – incurring Bobby’s wraith is decidedly not on his list of things to do that day.

            Still, he’s naked from the waist down when Dean returns, shirtless and looking a thousand times more comfortable in his practice shorts, emblazoned with the team’s logo on the right leg.  “Holy shit.”

            “Squats have been paying off, haven’t they?”  Sam smacks his own butt and wiggles it at Dean, pleased with how taut those muscles have become.  “Where are my shorts?”

            Sam turns around, and Dean’s just looking at his naked lower body, shorts in his left hand and groping himself with his right, very obviously hard.  “What was the question?”

            “Shorts, Dean, may I have them?”  Sam extends his hand, aware of how obscene a picture he makes, his hard cock peeking out from under his t-shirt and a spatula in the other hand.  Dean swallows, hand Sam his shorts, and perches on the edge of the table to watch Sam work.

            “Don’t think those are gonna do a lot of good containing you, baby boy.”  Dean’s gone from touching through his shorts to just having his hand inside them, stroking his dick and giving Sam his “I want you to slam me” face.

            “Well, no, but they will keep grease from splattering on my junk.  Hate to start things off with a trip to the emergency room.”  Sam turns back to his pancake mix and starts ladling it out onto the griddle, pleased with the loud sizzle it makes as it comes into contact with the hot metal.  Between shirtless, horny Dean and the smell of food, he’s drooling with all sorts of hunger right now.

            “That’s fair.”  Dean licks his own precome off of his fingers, sucking them one by one and still looking at Sam like he’s the only object in the known universe.  It’s intense, wild even, and Sam wants to respond to it, hell every nerve ending is screaming for Dean’s touch right now.  Dean is so fucking irresistible, between his dick hanging out of his shorts and the naked lust he’s directing at Sam.

            “Uh Sammy…”  Dean gestures to the stove and shit, the pan is starting to smoke.  Sam rescues it just in time before their bacon turns extra crispy.  He sets it aside with tongs, flips over their pancakes – they’ve got a few minutes before they’re done – and goes to Dean.

            The kitchen table groans under their weight as he pins Dean to it, his arms braced on either side of his head as he attacks his mouth.  Dean automatically goes for Sam’s hips, holding him in place while they rut together through their silky shorts.  It makes Sam crazy with desire, between the not-quite-enough-friction, Dean’s manly, powerful smell, and the ability to finally, _finally_ be just them.  Sam sobs with relief when Dean takes the initiative and hauls his dick out too, wrapping his right hand around both of them and stroking _hard._

“Fuck, Dean, fuckin’ missed this so goddamn much, baby.” Sam can barely get even those words out, and Dean just nods, his feet hooked around Sam’s legs to keep him from going anywhere.

            “C’mon Sammy, blow that big fuckin’ load all over me.”  Dean rubs his thumb over Sam’s slit, both of them seeping precome, keyed up beyond it being a pleasant ache.  “Wanna taste you, baby boy.”

            Those words are catalyst enough for Sam to do exactly as Dean wants, coming with a cry of pleasure so intense it turns the bones of his legs to jelly.  Dean milks him dry, their lips barely touching while he lights Sam’s world up.  Dean gets coated, all the way up to his neck, Sam’s come a volley of white right up the centerline of his torso.  Automatically, Sam goes right for it and starts licking it up, just as hungry for the taste of Dean’s body as Dean is for his own.  Come swapping has kind of been there thing forever now, and Sam couldn’t stop now if he wanted.

            Dean holds his mouth open for it, keeping Sam steady while he laps it up and lets it drip past those ridiculous pink lips, not at all looking like the star right winger the rest of the world knows him to be. Sam squeezes his jaw ever so gently as he connects them with a sloppy, wet kiss, tongue traveling in and out of Dean’s mouth so they can mix their tastes together even more.

            Smoke from the pancakes cuts them short, and Sam just barely saves their dinner yet again, leaving Dean on the table to run his fingers through the cooling mess on his belly.  “So I know now isn’t a good time to mention it but uh… it’s kind of been a while since I got tested.  Just in case that’s a concern.”

            Sam licks his lips one more time, savoring as he puts the pancakes on a plate.   “Kinda late to worry about it now, yeah?”  Condoms hadn’t been included in their shopping list, but lube had definitely been stocked up on, even if it is the cheap stuff.  Sam’s pretty sure they cleaned out the store’s stock.

            “Yeah well… just in case it was, I haven’t been with anyone except you.  You know that.”  Dean gets up and wets a dishcloth, wiping himself off before hugging Sam from behind.  “Never is, Sammy.”

            Sam squeezes Dean’s fingers and kisses them before he lets Dean go.  “I know, Dean.  Think we both would’ve been more careful if there had been.”

            Dean chuffs a laugh and scoots his chair as close to Sam’s as possible while he gets butter and syrup.  “You think people would get mad if we had a threesome?”

            Sam shrugs, sitting down and putting his foot over Dean’s under the table.  “Dunno – depends on what kind of threesome.  With a girl, probably less angry.”

            “Hell I’d sit back and just watch that.”  Dean feels his dick – still half-hard – through his shorts.  “Bet you could make her squirt just on your dick.”

            Sam pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth, his body tingling pleasantly at the thought of Dean being a bon voyeur. “You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?”

            “Maybe, nothing too in detail though – why, _would_ you do it?”  Dean looks so happy at just the thought of it that it makes Sam’s heart hurt to tell him anything but no.

            “We’ll see, maybe someday – now eat your pancakes that your chef so very narrowly rescued from certain demise.”

            The syrupy kisses in the shower afterwards are worth every burnt edge.

___

            For the first couple days, they don’t see the outside world.  The only way Sam knows if it’s night or day is by the sun or moon showing through the windows, entirely too caught up in feeling and touching each other’s bodies.  It’s never, ever going to be enough, but the catching up is… exhilarating.  Sam’s covered in all of the bruises and scratch marks he could possibly want, his body a star map of purple and black where Dean’s mouth has latched onto him.  Not only that, it’s a fairly close horse race as to who aches more – Sam’s wagering that it’s him, because Dean hasn’t exactly broken out the power bottom routine yet, leaving Sam to do the majority of the work.

            Not that it particularly bothers Sam – he’s got more than enough pent-up frustration to take out on Dean’s ass.

            Day three had finally seen them as both stir crazy, and Sam had been up for a run around their section of the lake right after dawn.  Dean had mumbled something along the lines of “I’ll join you later” after Sam had rolled him over.  Two hours in, and still no sign of him.  Lazy ass.

            Sam’s hit mile five, having finally settled into the pleasant numbness of putting one foot in front of the other, the cool air feeling like heaven against his sweat-drenched skin.  He hasn’t seen anyone else yet, even though he is keeping a constant ear and eye out for Dean, just in case he’s decided to join him.  It’s not that Dean objects to running, he just doesn’t enjoy it nearly as much as Sam does.

            It’s not quite the same high as being on the ice, but it’s close.  The ground isn’t perfectly flat, and he has to concentrate on not stumbling as he goes.  He doesn’t run with headphones, either, far more fascinated with the sounds of the world around him.  Lake Champlain is serene this time of year, the water lapping calmly at the shore not twenty feet away from him.  He makes an effort to time his steps with the waves coming in from the fishing boats that go by, hidden by the trees.  There’s not any particular rhythm to it, but it gives Sam something to concentrate on.

            Mile five finishes itself, and Sam starts to scale his pace back.  Given that Dean will definitely want to fool around more later, he doesn’t feel compelled to wear himself down to complete exhaustion – unless Dean will finally be willing to step up and ride him.  Just the thought of Dean’s gorgeous body, all golden skin and freckles that stretch for miles, moving in perfect sync with Sam’s hands on his hips as he rides him starts to arouse Sam enough that it makes his jockstrap feel tight.  Maybe he should just cut his run short and go back to Dean, maybe finish waking him up with a tongue in his ass.

            “Hey, Sammy!”

            Sam stops in his tracks, turning his head just in time to see Dean coming up the trail behind him, sweat gleaming and pecs bouncing; clearly he’s been working out as well.  Pull-ups in the doorway maybe?

            “Glad to see you’re finally out of bed.”  Sam puts his hands on his hips and breathes in deliberately hard, making his muscles flex purely for Dean’s benefit.  “Or did you get bored?”

            “Eh, both.  And you can’t blame me for sleeping in, Mr. Service Top.”  Dean puts his arms around Sam and kisses him on the mouth.  “Nothin’ puts me out like your cock.”

            “Like that’s new knowledge, babe.”  Sam grins and kisses Dean back, torn between finishing his run and going back to the cabin with Dean.  “How many miles did you do?”

            “Just a couple – I was doing crunches for an hour after you left.”  Dean rubs his stomach, splaying his fingers over the eight pack that has taken years to get to the level of definition he wants.  “Looks good, yeah?”

            “I’m not gonna argue.”  Sam kisses him again, and Dean ends up against a tree right off the path, his back pressed hard enough into the bark that Sam’s sure it’s going to leave imprints for a while.  Dean lets himself be pinned, his hands above his head and wrapped around Sam’s fingers.  Pound for pound their equal so far as muscle is concerned, but Sam has enough of a height advantage that he can turn it to his advantage and make Dean, well, small.  Sam has a thigh between his legs, keeping them spread as he licks the sweat from Dean’s chin and inhales.

            _Fuck_ if Dean doesn’t smell incredible right now, his armpit hair curled with wetness and his cheeks all flushed from exercise.  He’s just as pretty as right after he’s been fucked, and a very base, possessive part of Sam wants that right now, to take Dean out here in the woods where literally anyone could come by and see them – and barring that, hear them.  Dean’s noisy at best and loud as hell when it’s even better.

            Right now, he’s got Dean to where he could probably talk him into most anything, and Sam wants to taste more of the sweat dripping down Dean’s front.  He works Dean’s bottom lip, sucking on it slowly, wetly, making Dean moan and push their bodies together even harder.  His dick pokes Sam’s thigh, hard as a rock and hot as a bar from a blacksmith’s forge.

            “Can you be quiet for me, baby?”  Sam nips Dean’s chin and Dean suppresses a sharp inhale of breath, his hands still pinned.  Sam doesn’t expect him to hold to that promise, but he at least has to ask.

            Dean nods, then pulls his mouth back.  “Course I can, just… what are you gonna do?”

            “Don’t think I got enough of you yesterday.”  One more kiss to Dean’s lips and then Sam’s on his knees, digging into the cool earth beneath him.  He pulls Dean’s cock out of his shorts and jockstrap, fully hard and flushed red, the tip the same incredible pink of his lips.  Sam makes sure to look Dean in the eye as he takes him in hand and licks teasingly up the bottom of it, mouth open wide, getting him good and wet with spit.  Dean’s fingers are in Sam’s hair in an instant, tugging and directing where he wants Sam to go.

            Sam’s always loved to blow Dean, especially right after a game or intense practice.  The smell, the sweat, the kind of insane level of horny Dean gets at those times – it’s intoxicating, and Sam can’t get enough.  He swallows Dean down to the base and inhales, his nose buried in Dean’s musky pubes, reaching up to pull and roll Dean’s balls, his own cock hard enough that it’s come out of the side of his jockstrap and is hanging out the leg of his running shorts.

            “Fuckin’ hell, Sammy, that feels so goddamn _good._ ”  Dean doesn’t try to fuck Sam’s mouth, letting Sam do all the work and set the pace.  Sam hums his agreement, tonguing at the fat vein the runs up and around to the left side of Dean’s cock.  Part of Sam’s brain tells him that he needs to hurry up, but a far larger voice tells him to enjoy it.  Getting Dean under his tongue like this is a hell of a time.

            Pulling back, he jerks Dean off and bunches up his foreskin, pinching the tip between his thumb and forefinger.  Dean’s foreskin is shorter than Sam’s, leaving the very tip exposed when he’s soft whereas Sam is completely covered; it’s still enough for Sam to work with.

            “That’s it Sammy, chew on my fucking foreskin baby boy, feels fuckin’ _incredible.”_ It’s whispered, invested with even more meaning as Dean looks down at him with this intense expression, like he’s beholding this beautiful, precious thing.  Sam loves it, feeling like he’s the only damn thing in the world that matters to Dean right now.  The longer Dean looks, the harder Sam teases him, drawing progressively louder and louder moans out of him.  He knows Dean’s getting close, his cock thickening even more in his fingers.

            “Wanna come, Dean?  Come all over my face and mouth?”  Sam smacks Dean’s cock against his tongue and lips a few times, spattering them with spit and precome.  He sucks on the head and tongues at Dean’s slit, catching his quick nod and doubling up on his efforts, sucking hard enough that the intake of air makes his mouth and cheeks pop.

Dean comes not two seconds later, blowing his load into Sam’s mouth and over his cheeks, thick white ropes that Sam doesn’t dare swallow yet.  The bleachy smell of Dean’s come drives Sam crazy and the moment Dean finishes, Sam’s on his feet and yanking his pants down, tucking Dean’s waistband under his ass and rutting against his cheeks.  Dean’s back is covered in sap and bark and deep lines where the tree had dug into him – whoops.

            “Gonna come all over your back, Dean.”  Sam ruts and Dean reaches for his head, pulling him into a messy kiss, tongue snaking in and out of his mouth.

            This ain’t gonna take long.  Blowing Dean has Sam worked up enough that he’s gonna come real fuckin’ easy.

            Dean sucks on his tongue one more time, and Sam’s come hits Dean at mid-back and drips down, adding to the beautiful mess already marring his skin.  He owes Dean a really good scrub after pinning him like that, but that’s for later.

            “Fuck.”  Sam huffs against Dean’s shoulder, sweating more now than he was during his workout.  “I wasn’t planning that.”  It’s true – kissing Dean had been the only objective once they found each other.  The rest had been all spontaneity.

            “Obviously.”  Dean laughs once, low in his throat, and turns to kiss Sam good and dirty one more time.  “Think anyone saw?”

            “Hope not – don’t wanna be outed through grainy blowjob video footage.”  Sam pulls his pants up doesn’t make much of an effort to put his dick back in his jock – his shorts are just long enough to keep him where he needs to be.  There have been enough photos of him in the backgrounds of his teammate’s Instagram photos for the world to know he’s hung.

            “Could make a sex tape instead, that way we control the quality.”  Dean sounds like he’s only half joking – Sam should be concerned but he’s too come-addled to worry about it too much.

            “With a script and everything, or just dirty fucking?”

            “We ever do anything else _but_ dirty fucking?”

            Sam laughs and deciding to hell with it, grabs Dean’s hand.  If they’re spotted, he’s hoping that whomever sees them focuses on that instead of the come all over their faces and bodies.

            “I mean, if you _want_ it slow and sweet later…”

            Surprisingly, that’s exactly how Dean asks for it after lunch.

___

By the sixth day, they’re finally starting to get on each other’s nerves.  It’s nothing personal, just a byproduct of having spent practically every second together since they got here.  The sex has also cooled, going from four times a day to just twice – once in the morning, and then before bed.  The rest of that time has them doing whatever they please.

            Sam’s out on the boat dock, enjoying some of the books he’s got backlogged on his Kindle and his second cup of coffee.  He’d decided to skip his workout that morning (missing one day won’t kill him) and go right to relaxing after breakfast.  Dean had only been too eager to watch him drag his deck chair down by the water and settle in, and Sam has a few guesses as to why. 

            The air is a lot cooler when he’s not sweating in it, and Sam tugs his sweatjacket around his shoulders a little tighter, quite enjoying the sharp contrast in temperature as he takes another sip of coffee.  The heat goes right to the pit of his stomach, joining the latent afterglow from sex earlier.  The novel he’s reading has a lot of very steamy parts to it, and reading them reminds him of Dean.  Dean always wonders what Sam goes to get himself worked up – here’s his answer.  It’s not that Sam doesn’t like porn, he simply prefers the written version, where he can supplant sexy firemen with Dean and his bodies.  There has to be something about a stereotype there but Sam likes what he likes – and some of those guys in porn definitely aren’t enjoying it nearly as much as the sounds they make indicate.

            More than likely, Dean’s touching himself right now.  Sam had seen his tablet sitting on the coffee table on the charger, and Dean doesn’t use it for much else aside from jerking off. (He’s a paper kind of guy when it comes to news and magazines and what have you.)  That’s an image Sam’s been trying to not fixate on all morning, because watching Dean touch himself is absolutely something he wants to do.  He has this completely immersive way of getting himself off, honed through years and countless hotel rooms when they couldn’t touch each other.  Hell, he and Dean have probably jerked off together more times than they’ve actually had sex, even if they do end up giving helping hands most of the time. 

            Sam shifts in his chair, his cock hard between his book and the image of Dean sprawled on the end of the couch, his hand down his pants and teasing himself.  Seeing as how no one is on the lake this early, Sam allows himself a couple of indulgent feels, cupping his junk through his jeans.  The cool weather has his balls drawn up tight to his body and tugging them through his pants isn’t the easiest thing in the world but hey, he likes a challenge.  Just getting his hand near himself has his cock hard in seconds, deciding right before he sticks it in to wrap his fingers around his mug to warm them up.

            Only to find that he doesn’t have much coffee left and the little battery icon on his Kindle is getting serious about needing to be recharged.  Fuck.

            Tucking his boner into the waistband of his underwear, Sam rises and takes the short trail up to the back porch, hoping Dean left coffee in the pot.  He’d really rather not have to use the k-cup machine, no matter how quick and convenient it is.

            He can’t see the living room from this part of the kitchen, and Dean hadn’t been in the bedroom when he’d walked by – that’s where he has to be.  Sam doesn’t hear anything, which means either that Dean’s got the volume off or he has earbuds in – Sam might have the advantage of surprise right now.  Not that he makes a habit of sneaking up on his boyfriend when he’s masturbating, but it would be kind of hot to just watch for a while.  Maybe join in if Dean’s interested.

            As a precaution, Sam pads quickly and quietly to the bedroom for the lube, sticking it in his back pocket and moving on silent feet to the living room door.

            Dean’s laid out on the reclining end of the couch, his jeans and underwear around his ankles, t-shirt pulled up to his neck.  His left hand is behind his head, supporting himself so that he can see his tablet propped on his stomach.  His right is on his dick, stroking slowly but firmly and even from here, Sam can see the shiny slick of precome on his fingers, and the every time Dean comes to the apex of a stroke, more leaks out – and he was right about the earbuds.  Dean has no idea he’s there.

            Holding his belt buckle so that it doesn’t make a sound against the clasp, he takes his jeans off and sticks his cock through the fly of his boxers, as hard as he can be.  Sam doesn’t watch whatever porn Dean’s focused on, instead turning his attention to Dean.  He can’t see his face, just his body and cock – it’s enough, and before long Sam’s just as wet as Dean is.

            Sam bites his lip, stifling himself as he starts to time his strokes with Dean’s, seeing more and more why Dean’s adopted this particular technique; it’s designed for maximum pleasure but delivered slowly, each touch building like a wave up through his body.  It makes his toes curl inside his shoes and really, he probably should have gotten rid of those when he went back to their bedroom – oh well.  For just a moment, Sam tears his gaze away from Dean to focus on just himself, closing his eyes and looking down at his cock.  All of his veins are standing out in sharp relief to his skin, the head of his cock swollen to the maximum; he’s this close to going over and joining Dean, if for no other reason for Dean to see just how hard he’s made him.

            Fuck it – it’s not like Dean’s going to be angry about it.  Sam finishes undressing quietly, leaving only his socks on; the floor is cold as hell and he’d rather not lose his boner because of it.

            Dean is still involved in his porno when Sam leans down over the back of the couch and with both hands, leans Dean’s head back to give him a filthy, wet kiss.  Initially Dean is surprised but the spontaneous appearance of naked Sam gets him involved fast.  He tries to reach back for Sam’s head but Sam keeps him pinned, licking his mouth and tongue until the position becomes to uncomfortable to maintain.

            “Stay where you are, baby.”  Sam comes around to the other side of the couch, hard cock swinging between his legs; immediately, Dean’s attention is drawn to it.  He takes his earbuds out and pushes his tablet aside, his hand automatically going for Sam’s dick.

            “Feeling yourself too, baby boy?”  Dean turns over for another kiss but Sam shoves him back.  “The hell?”

            “We’re jerking off together – was getting kind of into how you were touching yourself.”  Sam crowds up to Dean so that they’re pressed together, thigh to thigh, ribs to ribs, but keeping his arm from around Dean’s body.  “Fuckin’ love how you jerk off, Dean.”

            “Yeah?”  Dean gets his clothes the rest of the way off and reclines as he was before, hand on his cock again.  “Was thinkin’ about you anyway, Sammy.”  Dean licks his lips so that they shine, perving on Sam’s body while he pleasures himself.  “Nothin’ gets me harder.”

            “Damn right.”  Sam defaults to his own favorite method, his left hand tugging his balls so hard that for anyone else it would hurt, his right stroking over the space where his foreskin pulls back, darker pink than the rest of his cock.  “Shame that porno wasn’t doing it for you.” 

            “Don’t think I never replace the top with you, baby boy – you put ‘em all to shame.”  Dean leans over for a kiss and Sam gives it to him, making it as nasty as Dean wants him to.  Fuck all if those sorts of kisses don’t get him even wetter.  “Ain’t even my favorite thing to jerk off to.”

            Oh?

            “Tell what it is, Dean, and I’ll try to make it happen for you.”

            Dean’s gaze moves from Sam’s cock up to his body, practically drooling over him.  “Remember that shoot you did for Sports Illustrated a few years ago?  The special Bodies edition?”

            “Yeah, I do.”  Sam had been completely naked with nothing but a few well placed arm movements and a not very large net to hide behind; he’d never felt so exposed in his light.  “Don’t tell me that’s it…”

            “Fuck yeah it is – the one shot where they had you crouching low and fuck, Sammy, your goddamn tits were all pushed together.  Just… fuck, I wanted to shove my dick between them and fuck you until I blew my load all over you.”  Dean’s hand stops on himself, squeezing his cock to stop what’s probably the onset of orgasm.  Hearing that confession has Sam that much closer to the edge too – not in the least because Dean referred to his chest as “tits.”  God, that filthy fucking mouth is going to get both of them in deep trouble one day but Sam fucking _loves_ it.

            Time to indulge Dean just a little.

            “You wanna feel ‘em up?”  Sam moves his left arm and stretches, doing his best to make his chest pop.  “There all yours, Dean, you know that.”

            Dean honest to God looks like a child left alone in a toy store, because it’s all he can do to sit up, spin Sam to face longways down the couch, and then straddle his stomach, Dean’s cock leaving sticky trails of precome across his body.  Some gets caught in Sam’s chest hair and he smears it around, all the while with Sam jerking off his cock right against Dean’s ass.

            “Fuckin’ beautiful.”  Dean’s still stroking himself while he uses his left hand to cup and squeeze Sam’s chest, thumbing at his nipples, caressing the hard cuts of definition, occasionally straying up to Sam’s clavicle.  “Now you know why you always catch me groping myself when you’re in Underarmour.”

            “Thought that might have something to do with it.”  Sam pulls Dean down for another kiss, tugging at his hair hard enough to know that he means business.  “Lube’s in my jeans.”

            Dean hops up, nearly kneeing Sam in the face in the process, his steps loud across the wooden floor.  Sam watches his own cock, taking a little too much pride in how steadily and thickly his precome is flowing.  He’s so worked up from Dean groping him that it’s not going to take long for him to come.  Dean comes back and pours lube all over his pecs, making him glisten a little more than he wanted to.

            “Think that’s enough, babe?”  Sam teases and helps Dean settle just so in order for him to push his dick into the tight groove between his pecs.

            “Hope so – that’s the rest of the bottle.”  Dean braces his left hand on the armrest behind Sam’s head, his right forming a tight, slick tunnel over his cock.  “This ain’t gonna take long, got me so fuckin’ close baby boy.”

            “Fuck my tits, Dean, hard as you want.”  Sam looks up and licks his teeth at Dean, knowing full well that right now, he looks nothing like a star goalie – just a guy with a huge chest his boyfriend wants to abuse.

            Dean performs incredibly well, his cock sliding smoothly between the tight valley Sam’s desperately trying to keep together, using some of the excess lube to finish himself off with.  The best part is Dean’s expression, so completely lust-stupid and overjoyed that Sam can’t remember the last time he looked so completely happy.

            “Fuck, Sammy, baby boy I…”  Dean grunts, and the first spurt of come hits Sam right in the chin, splashing up and covering his cheek, keeping his head turned so that none goes up his nose.  Dean loses it so hard and fast that he doesn’t breathe, his whole body shaking.  Sam isn’t far behind and for the second time that week, spooges all over Dean’s back.  He feels it run down off his ass and back down to his own body, ending up making a mess on the cushion he’s stuck to.

            Dean doesn’t waste a moment in cleaning Sam’s face up for him, licking come from wherever it’s plastered to him and feeding it back to Sam; this is the sort of intimacy he loves having with Dean, messy and wild and honestly kind of gross.  What of it Dean can’t lick up he scoops up with his fingers and licks off, sucking on his digits like some sort of perverse lollipop.

            “You are _nasty._ ”  Sam grins as he says it, finally pushing Dean’s heavy weight off his ribcage and into his lap.  “So, was that as satisfying as you’d hoped?”

            “Fuck yeah it was –you’re gonna let me do that again, right?”  Dean’s face is so hopeful that it would be cruel to say no.

            “Next time I do chest day – I’ll get ‘em good and swollen for you.  Sound good?”

            Dean kisses Sam again, murmuring “what I’d give to have a gym right now” against his lips.

            Sam agrees.

___

            “Nice going, Mr. Camp Green Lake Rowing Champ.”  Dean hauls their cooler the last few steps onto the back porch, out of the cold, hard rain as Sam fights with the picnic basket and fishing poles.  They’re both chilled to the bone, and Sam _hurts._ They had been well out of sight of the cabin when a sudden storm had come up and doused them, meanwhile turning the lake into a choppy, boat-tipping maelstrom.  Comparatively, Sam would rather be crushed against the wall by an opposing team than have to row through that again.

            The boat itself is half-filled with water, but the knot against the post on the dock is secure enough that it won’t go anywhere until the rain lets up and Sam has the chance to look at it properly.  “Again, the weather is _not_ my fault.”  Sam drops the contents of his hands right inside the back door.  “And you’re the one who insisted on protecting the cooler.”

            “Because it’s a six hundred dollar cooler!”  Dean tries to look threatening and angry but with the way his hair is stuck to his forehead and his teeth chatter well… it’s hard to take him seriously.  “How’d you have felt it if went overboard?”

            Sam doesn’t feel like getting into this argument – right now or ever – so he simply bypasses Dean and goes in search of a warmer climate.  Preferably the shower.  Or maybe coffee.  Could he drink coffee IN the shower?

            His boots squeak on the wood floor, stopping all of a sudden when he gets to the carpeted master bedroom, untying them just enough to kick them off.  Since his clothes are so soggy he takes and leaves them on the bathroom floor, intent on doing something about them later. Right now he just wants to get warm.

            “Sam, hey, hold the door.”  Dean’s barreling through the bathroom door a moment later, tugging his clothes off and adding to the pile on the floor.  Sam doesn’t wait for Dean to join him, instead going ahead and turning the water on and turning it up to near-scalding.  He steps into it slowly, letting his body get used to it before he’s fully immersed.

            Dean shoves him the last couple inches and nearly knocks him into the wall.  “Ow.”

            “Sorry – it’s cold out there.”  Dean doesn’t bat an eye at the incredibly hot water hitting his skin, rubbing his hands all over himself to spread it faster.  “Man, you look _terrible._ ”

            Sam frowns, ducking his head under the water and letting some of it hit Dean in the face.  “Well, when you’re partner doesn’t offer to help row…”  The frantic pace he’d set had really taken it out of him and any other time, naked, wet Dean would be an offer too tempting to resist.  Right now?  He just wants to sleep.  Maybe forever.  Or have his back and shoulders replaced with something that doesn’t hurt so damn much.  He’s going to be tender for a couple days, at least.

            “Again, six hundred dollar cooler.”  Dean soaps himself up to wash the lake grime off of himself, and Sam does the same.  “You’re not up for this right now, are you?”

            “What, listening to you lecture about how precious and rare it is?  No, Dean, I don’t.”  Sam rinses himself off and presses up against Dean’s back to run the chill from his ears one more time, deliberately not putting his hands all over Dean’s body.  He’s already annoyed with Dean – the last thing he wants is for him to be horny.  Sam just doesn’t have it in him today, made worse by the fact that they didn’t even fucking catch anything.  This is precisely why he hates fishing, except Dean had been insistent and Sam admittedly does have a difficult time saying no to those big green eyes.

            Dean starts to reply, turning to face Sam except Sam’s already getting out of the shower, his skin still feeling far too cool but he’s tired of standing.  He can see the bed from here, inviting and unmade so that the blankets are still turned down in an appealing mess.  Wrapping his towel around his waist once he’s done drying, he shuffles along until he falls face first into the thick nest of blankets, groaning contentedly as he closes his eyes to the storm raging outside.

            Not five minutes later, he feels the bed move and a weight straddle his thighs.

            “Sammy, wake up, ‘s not time for bed yet.”

            “Not asleep.”  Sam keeps his face shoved between the pillows, not caring if Dean hears him or not.  “And get off, I’m sore.”

            “I know.”  Dean’s hands touch his back, firm but gentle.  “I found some massage oil, if you want me to…”

            Sam grunts his assent; Dean might be an aggravating son-of-a-bitch but those hands are fucking _magic._ It’ll help Sam sleep better anyway.

            Dean is thankfully quiet as he works the oil into Sam’s flesh, not quiet so hard at first but getting more so the longer he’s at it.  Soon Sam’s groaning involuntarily and dammit, it has the rest of his body interested too.  Thank God for his towel, because it’s keeping his boner safely hidden from Dean’s view.  He’s not sure what exactly he plans to do with it – either take care of it after the massage is over or wait it out until he’s finished being annoyed with Dean – but _something_ will have to happen.  Of course, he and Dean haven’t really touched each other like that since yesterday afternoon….

            “Want me to go lower, baby boy?”  Dean’s voice is at a sultry whisper, and it makes Sam’s skin tingle.  “Gotta keep those glutes happy too, you know.”

            Sam nods, deciding that if Dean sees his erection, so be it.  Not like he hasn’t before.

            Dean picks his hips up and gets the towel from under him, tossing it aside and sliding his oily hands over Sam’s ass.  Surprisingly, it feels even better than on his back and shoulders, rowing through that storm now just a memory.  Dean works his way down his thighs too, his thumbs dipping into the crevice between his legs and pulling up right before he’s about to touch Sam’s perineum.  It’s teasing but at the same time not, the idea of Dean touching and tasting him _there_ powerful enough that he’s this close to vocalizing it.

            It’s been years since Dean’s fucked him instead of the other way around and right now, while they’re both relaxed and warm and blissful, Sam’s far more onboard with the idea than he thought he would be.  All he has to do is say it.

            “Hey, Dean…”

            “On it, baby.”  He’s scary like that, knowing what Sam wants before he even has to articulate it.  He feels Dean lift up as he discards his own towel and then his tongue is going for his hole, deep and wet and _insanely_ warm.  Sam picks his head up, mouth hanging open as he’s eaten out for the first time in forever, Dean’s strong hands keeping him nicely spread and exposed.

            It’s _heavenly._

“Shit, yeah, that’s it Dean, get your fuckin’ tongue in there.”  Sam tries to push back against Dean’s face but the angle and weight of Dean’s body has him pinned, and Dean scrapes his two day beard over Sam’s hole to settle him back down, his cock leaking against the sheets.  So much for not being in the mood.

            “Just stay where you are Sammy, I got you.”  Dean kisses both cheeks before he goes back to licking Sam open, sparing no sensation and letting Sam feel as much as he wants, getting him so wet that Sam feels spit drip down his balls.  All Sam can do is moan and writhe with him, his voice pitching higher every time Dean’s tongue finds another place that hasn’t been touched in so long.  He’s starting to shake, the pillow he’s grasping twisted in half.

            He needs Dean inside him right _now._

“Dean, baby, please, you gotta fuck me soon.”  Sam turns his head and damn the burning in his shoulders, he _needs_ to face Dean for this.  Dean kisses him deeply, sharing the taste of Sam’s body and grabbing for the lube where it’s sticking out from under the pillow. He makes quick work of getting his fingers wet and opening Sam up and God it’s good, Dean finding his prostate right away and crooking against it in such a way that Sam’s vision whites out for a couple seconds.  He could lay here and be teased all day like this, Dean’s body keeping him right where he wants and his fingers in his ass, stretching him until Dean can fuck him with no resistance.

            But not today – he’s interested in one thing only.

            “Get up on your knees.”  Dean grabs Sam’s hips and pulls him into his lap, seeing where Dean’s going with this.  He’s not cold anymore and once they’re pressed together, he’s even warmer, the tip of Dean’s cock right against his hole and his lips on the back of his neck.

            “Can use a condom, if you want.  Know it’s been a while since we did it like this.”  Dean kisses him behind his left ear, caressing Sam’s flanks with his sides to relax him more.

            “No, Dean, just… just you, nothin’ between us.”  Yeah, _now_ he’s concerned about protection.  Haven’t they been eating each other’s spunk for the past nine days without a second thought?

            “Okay.”  Dean steadies himself and shit, holy _shit_ he’s sliding in and while he’s not as big as Sam he’s still big, his thick cock making Sam feel like he’s being pushed into a solar flare.  It’s hot, almost too hot but it gets better the deeper in Dean goes, filling him up _perfectly._ Sam enjoys the long, slow fall into Dean’s body, his hands over Dean’s so that they don’t come apart before they’re even good and started.

            Once he’s bottomed out, Dean hugs him tightly from behind.  “Feel so fuckin’ good, baby boy, wanna fuck you nice and slow, yeah?”

            “Yeah.”  Sam can’t disagree right now, not with Dean so close and his dick so far inside him that he swears he tastes precome at the back of his throat.

            When Dean said slow, he didn’t think he meant glacial – but that’s the pace Dean sets.  Every thrust, however drawn out it might be, hits Sam right in the prostate.  He can’t keep his hand off his cock, his left wrapped around Dean’s back to keep them as close as possible.  He milks himself with every movement of Dean’s hips, their lips never leaving each other, neither sure where one kiss ends and another begins.  Slow, destructive, cleansing – Sam gets it now, gets why Dean hit that guy and blew up at those reporters, why he had been so fucking _mean_ towards the end of the season.  This is what he wants, really.  Just himself and Sam.

            That realization coming to mind pushes Sam up to the precipice fast, and he bites Dean’s lip to get his attention.

            “Dean, I’m…”

            “Yeah, Sammy, that’s it, blow that big fuckin’ load for me.”  Dean fucks him almost imperceptibly faster, grinding his cock against Sam’s sweet spot – that’s all it takes.  Sam’s orgasm is powerful enough to double him over, the breath crushed out of him further when Dean’s arms go tight around his body, his own orgasm knocking them out of that perfect alignment they’d found.  He takes it out on Sam’s back, sinking his teeth into his shoulder and not letting go until they’re both panting and dizzy.

            Dean rolls them both over onto their sides and spoons Sam, his hand on Sam’s dick to wring out the last few drops.

            “That…”  Sam can’t make a sentence right now, laying in the spray of his own come and trying not to think about how sore his ass is going to be in about an hour.

            “Was intense.”  Dean kisses his neck and slips his hand between Sam’s legs, rubbing his middle finger over Sam’s wet hole.  “And you look _damned_ good with come dripping out of you.”

            Way to ruin a perfectly nice moment, Dean.  “Says he who has done more leaking in his life than anyone I know.”

            “Hey, I didn’t say that _I_ didn’t like it.”  Dean stops messing with his hole, deciding to leave his creation alone, it seems.  “And I’m sorry I got snippy with you earlier.  Thanks for uh, not flipping us into the lake.”

            “Think that massage was enough of an apology, babe.”  Sam turns over so that he and Dean can look at each other, their noses just a centimeter apart.  “But we need to talk.”

            Dean’s face turns worried in an instant, and Sam kisses him quickly to get rid of it – not _that_ kind of talk, God no.  He wouldn’t want to get rid of Dean even if meant life or death. 

            “About?”

            “About us.  Coming out to the team.  Dean I… I can’t live like this anymore, because this, now?  That’s gonna be hard to leave when we go back to real life.”

            Dean doesn’t say anything, and Sam doesn’t necessarily want him to.  He doesn’t even really want to discuss it right now, not when they’re both high on each other and Sam just had one of the best orgasms in recent memory – but it’s out there.

            “Why don’t we sleep on it for a while?”  Dean kisses him one more time and tucks Sam up under his arm, ending the conversation before Sam has the chance to change his mind.

            Sam will take it, but it has to happen nonetheless.

___

            In forty eight hours, their suspension is up.  Coach Stanhope had decided to give Sam a call earlier that morning and offer him the last two days back but one look at Dean’s sleepy, half-awake gaze had made the decision for Sam; he’s going to enjoy every last uninterrupted second he can with Dean.  He’d even skipped his run that morning so that they could laze away half the morning in bed together, exchanging slow, deep kisses and grinding that resulted in nothing but giving Sam blue balls.  He’s a little bit of a masochist, hell they both are – but the anticipation, the touching, the all-day teasing does it for Sam.  He loves the slow burn of extended foreplay, walking around half-hard all day until the moment is absolutely perfect and he and Dean _finally_ destroy each other again.

            Of course, he loves to stay unclothed for those times.  Wants to give Dean all the access he wants without impediment.  Unfortunately, the cabin’s heating went on the fritz overnight and it’s a little too cold to be nude, which leaves Sam with his last clean pair of jeans and the one top that he deems comfortable enough to exist in when he’s over-horny: his practice jersey from their minor league days, when he and Dean started out in the Topeka Tornadoes.  It’s old, faded, and the patches in it where daylight shines through get worse with each passing month but Sam refuses to let it go.

            It still fits him pretty well, even if it’s a little tight through the shoulders.  Ten years ago he was a lot leaner, but the rest of it drapes his body well.  The hem of it goes to the top of his thighs, worn soft from fidgeting with it over the years.  He’s messing with it now, Dean busy shaving while he makes them a very late breakfast.

            He’s just setting their omelets on the table when Dean enters the kitchen, finishing up toweling his hair dry and dressed similarly to Sam, his own jersey even more worn.

            “Sammy, that smells…”  Dean pauses, looking at Sam, taking in his jersey, his ponytail, silverware in his hand.  Sam feels weirdly put-upon, not sure what exactly it was that made Dean stop – is it because they’re wearing the same thing?

            “Delicious, I know – coffee?”

            Dean just nods, not looking Sam in the eye.  “Sure – I didn’t even know you still had that thing.”

            “Memories, babe.  Couldn’t throw it out if I wanted to.”  He dumps a good portion of cream into both of their mugs and fills them up to the brim with Majestic Roast, the steam curling skywards with a promise of warmth.  “Same goes for you, by the way.”

            “Yeah, well… you have a point.”  Instead of sitting down at the table, Dean comes over to where Sam’s standing and hugs him from behind, his shower-warm hands settling under his jersey on his hips.  “Looks good on you.”

            “He says, ten years after the fact.”  Sam chuckles and what the hell, turns around to kiss Dean.  Dean practically purrs when Sam slips his fingers under the back of his jersey to scritch at the base of his spine, his tongue wonderful and silky in Sam’s mouth.  It’s not even the first or tenth time they’ve kissed that morning but it’s still incredible, like always.  Dean grinds their hips together, taking this little exchange from sixty to a hundred in the space of a second.

            “Got somethin’ to tell you, baby boy.”  Dean kisses along Sam’s jaw to his right ear, his breath hot on Sam’s skin.  “Wanna know what it is?”

            “Fuck yeah, babe.”  Sam closes his eyes and nibbles at the join of Dean’s neck and shoulder, worrying the already significant bruise there.

            “Can’t hardly focus on the ice sometimes, cause I’m watchin’ you, all big and powerful in your gear.  Wanna be that fuckin’ jersey sometimes, cause it’s touching you and I’m not.”  Dean bites his earlobe and yeah, that’s a dealbreaker right there – Sam’s absolutely going to fuck him as soon as possible.

            “Yeah?  Like watching me move?”  Sam _thinks_ he sees where Dean’s going with this – honestly, anything to get them naked sooner.

            “Yeah.  Can’t ever wait to get my hands on you after that.”  Dean’s back at his mouth, putting Sam’s hand on his jaw so that he can squeeze and take him.  Sam does, letting Dean feel the power in his grip.  “Fuckin’ love it when my goalie rails me so hard I’m still feeling it the next day.”

            Sam moans, ridiculously turned on by the filth pouring out of Dean’s mouth right now.  “That what you want right now, Dean?  Wanna go to practice with my come still in your ass?”  He sucks Dean’s tongue into his mouth, pulling at it so that Dean can’t back away.  “Think the guys would get mad if they knew their captain was a slut for my big cock?”

            God, it’s too easy some days, really – but Sam doesn’t care.  He wants Dean _now._

“Fuck ‘em, Sammy – I know what I want.”  Dean reaches down and palms at Sam through his jeans, squeezing his thick length all the way up to the tip.  “Want this, so fuckin’ bad.”

            Sam nods, pushing Dean back.  “Gotta get it nice and wet first.”

            Dean smirks, sinking obediently to the floor and unbuttoning Sam’s jeans.  He didn’t bother with underwear today, not when he’s down to just one pair and he plans to wear it tomorrow, so every touch of Dean’s fingers through the worn denim feels that much more electrifying.

            “Fingered myself open in the shower for you, Sammy.”  Dean pulls Sam’s jeans down to his ankles and licks the underside of his dick, the head shiny-wet with precome.  “Got to thinkin’ about how powerful you look after a game, like you’re king of the goddamn world.” He pulls Sam’s foreskin forward, sucking on just that and jerking more precome into his open mouth.  “Want you to fuck me like that.”

            Sam’s reply is lost as Dean takes him all the way down in one motion, taking away his hand and using just his mouth.  He’s so fucking good at this, always has been, and Sam feels dumbfounded watching him, knowing full well that Dean could use this on anyone else – but he’s all Sam’s.

            “Got such a good mouth on you, baby.”  Sam grabs Dean’s hair with his right hand and pulls Dean back up to the head of his cock.  “Want me to use those pretty lips?”

            Dean nods, as enthusiastically as he can with his mouth full of dick.

            Sam goes slow at first, rocking his hips in the same way he’s going to use to fuck Dean’s ass in a minute.  “Fuckin’ love how this is my reward, Dean, getting to fill you up with my cock.”  Dean’s eyes are tearing up from Sam continually stretching his mouth and jaw but damn if he’s going to make Sam stop – he can and will do this as long as Sam wants him to.

            It’s too bad – because Sam’s not here for this right now.

            “On your feet against the counter, baby.”  Sam kisses the precome and spit from Dean’s lips before spinning him around and getting Dean’s jeans off.  The lower half of his ass is definitely wet with lube, and sure enough when Sam pulls his cheeks apart, his hole is stretched far enough that Sam should only have to slide right in.

            “It’s all yours, Sammy, whenever you’re _jesuschristready.”_

            Sam sinks himself to the hilt without stopping, holding Dean’s hips steadily enough that his grip is definitely going to add some more bruises to the constellation of blue and purple already there.  “Damn right it’s mine, Dean.”

            Dean turns his head for another kiss, bumping their foreheads in the process but hell if that’s going to stop them – Sam’s ready to fuck.

            Copying himself from when he was fucking Dean’s mouth, each long, deep stroke of his hips makes Dean moan loudly enough that it echoes in the kitchen.  “That’s it, baby, get fuckin’ loud for me.  Want everyone to hear how much of a whore the captain is.”   He digs his nails in, making Dean get up to the level of volume he wants.

            “Christ, Sammy, you’re too fuckin’ much.”  Dean smiles, freeing his left leg from his jeans and putting it up on the counter, letting Sam get even deeper.  “So fuckin’ big, baby boy, God, can’t…”   Sam hushes him, changing the angle of his hips ever so slightly so that he’s right on Dean’s prostate.

            “Love watching you take it, Dean, love _knowing_ you can handle my big fuckin’ dick.”  Sam’s right in the pocket now, speeding up his thrusts and making their jerseys bunch up between them, his stomach and Dean’s lower back wet with the sweat of exertion.  “Gonna come inside you, make you walk around with it dripping down your legs.  You’d like that, wouldn’t you, me fucking you right before a match so that every time you move you still feel how wet you are.”

            Dean moans, his head pitched back and his hand stripping his cock so fast it’s a blur.  “Fuckin’ hell, baby boy, keep… keep talking, I’m so goddamn _close.”_

Sam fucks him faster, making Dean’s ass jiggle.  “Want to fuck you right in the middle of the arena, so that everyone can see how good you are for me, watching me fuck you so good you can’t even stand up to get back to the locker room.  Think Stanhope would like that, knowing we’re a couple of filthy fuckers who can’t keep their goddamn hands to each other?”  Sam’s close now too, Dean’s tight ass making whatever lube he’d put in himself earlier turn foamy on his dick.

            “Sam, Sammy, keep going, God right fucking _there-”_

Dean comes all over the counter and wall in front of him, surprising himself and just _watching_ that has Sam coming fast, balls deep inside Dean and draped over his back so that Dean’s foot slips off the edge of the counter and they nearly fall down, the world going white around them and it’s far too much, truly, but Sam holds on for dear life.

            There’s come all over the back of Dean’s jersey – and the front of his own – when Sam looks down at their bodies, his cock heavy and wet between his legs.

            Dean’s hole is a mess, but that’s nothing new – it just means he did a good job.

            “That… fucking hell, Sammy, if the hockey thing doesn’t work out you gotta go into porn.  Best goddamn service top, I swear…”  Dean looks proud that he managed to string those words together, swaying with Sam where they’re leaned against the counter.

            “So glad I can add that to my resume – service top.”  Sam kisses down the side of Dean’s neck, grabbing a dishcloth and wetting it with hot water.  “You’d be my cameraman, right?”

            “Damn right I would.”  Dean shivers as Sam starts to clean him up, wiping the mess from Dean’s ass and legs carefully.  “Fuck, I must be out of it – wanted you to eat that back out of me.”

            “Next time, babe, I promise.”  Just to reinforce his words, Sam brushes his fingers over Dean’s hole and turns him for another kiss, this one sweet and gentle.  “Right now though, I think we should reheat those omelets.”

            “Round two afterwards?”

            Seriously, this guy _never quits._

___

            The arena looks even bigger than normal, and Sam’s never been more nervous to set foot inside it.  Dean’s holding his hand, standing in front of the Impala while they try to figure out who’s going to move first.

            “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”  Sam’s asked that four times now, and Dean still hasn’t really replied.  They had agreed last night that today would be the day they tell everyone about their relationship.  All that decision had done was make the butterflies in Sam’s stomach get a lot worse.

            “I… yeah, Sam, I’m ready.” 

            At least he answered, right?

            “C’mon – Stanhope’s probably mad enough already.”

            Better together than not all – and even if things go to shit, it’s not like the constant of Dean is going to change.

            Sam’s never been more sure of anything in his life.

           


End file.
